Semitones 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Semitones 


By 

A.  A.  C. 


NEW    YORK 

Brentano's 

1907 


Copyright,  1906 
By  The  CHELTENHAM   Press 


Arranged  and  Printed  at 

The  Cheltenham  Pros 

New  York 


PS 


To  EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 

Poet  Philosopher  and  Man  of  Letters 

THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME  is  INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

The  lines  entitled  October  Days  appeared  in  the  year   1867. 

The  sonnet,  Beata  Beatrix,  was  published  in  1904.  The 
other  verses  contained  in  this  volume  are  now  printed  for  the 
first  time. 


PRELUDE 


Words  are  the  organ-stops  whereon 

The  rhythmic  songs  of  life  are  played, 
Ere  yet  the  faltering  hands  are  stayed, 

The  key-board  closed,  the  player  gone. 

It  is  so  far  from  thought  to  word 
That  half  the  image  is  unseen, 

And  half  the  harmony  unheard, 

So  much  there  is  that  lies  between. 

Not  by  the  outer  ear  alone, 

Some  f tier  hearing  may  descry 
The  hidden  melodies  that  lie 

Between  the  tone  and  semitone. 


vu 


This  edition  consists  of  500  copies  printed  on 
Japanese  hand-made  paper. 


CONTENTS 


PRELUDE 

INTRODUCTION 

SONNET  Warmed  by  the  Soft  Sicilian  Skies 

"  The  Music  Ceased 

"  At  Daybreak 

"  Beata  Beatrix 

"  The  Days  that  Were 

"  Atlantis 

"  Oblivion 

"  Caprice 

"  The  Dancing  Bear 

"  The  Headless  Statue 
LOVE  IS  ONLY  A  MEMORY 
THE  DREAM 

INTERLUDE  If  Words  are  only  Empty  Sound 

TRIOLET  In  December 

"  Regret 

"  A  Stray  Glance 

"  Until  Death  do  Us  Part 


I 

2 

3 
4 

5 
6 

7 
8 

9 

JO 

ii 

15 
21 

*5 
29 

3° 
31 
32 


CONTENTS— Continued 

PACK 

INTERLUDE      I  Worship  what  You  might  have  Been  35 

LYRIC                  Love  comes  not  to  Thy  Call  39 

"                       Thy  Mouth  is  the  Rosebud's  Hue  40 

INSUFFICIENCY  41 

LOVE  COMES  BUT  ONCE  42 

DESERET  43 

SONG                   Thy  Voice  is  in  the  Whispering  Wind  44 

"                          Something  there  was  of  Sorrow  46 

SERENADE  47 

INTERLUDE      We  Pay  the  Price  for  all  We  Gain  5 1 

THE  NIGHT  COMETH  53 

AD  ASTRA  54 

IT  IS  QUITE  EASY  TO  BE  WISE  55 

IF  I  CAME  BACK  56 

THE  GARDEN  57 

PERVERSITY  58 

REJOICE  AND  COMPLAIN  NOT  59 

THE  BLIND  VIOLINIST  60 

THE  FIRST  KISS  61 

THERE  ARE  NO  FETTERS  FOR  THE  MIND  62 

ACROSS  THE  DINNER  TABLE  63 

IN  AUTUMN  64 

INTERLUDE      We  cannot  keep  what  We  have  Won  67 


CONTENTS— Continued 

PARLOR  AND  GARRET 

ANTHEM 

KING  FOR  A   DAY 

REQUIEM  /ETERNAM 

THE  GATES  OF  SLEEP 

LA  JOIE  FAIT  PEUR 

CARPE  DIEM 

WITH  THE  CAMELS 

THREE  SCORE  AND  TEN 

COMPENSATION 

WITHIN  THY   BREAST 

BE  MERCIFUL 

THE  THREE  CLOWNS 

OCTOBER  DAYS 

BALLADE 

PARAPHRASES     To  Whom  it  may  Concern 

"  La  Vie 

THE  BALLAD  OF  ROSE  MARY 
TO  F.  A.  C. 


SEMITONES 


Who  ranks  the  least  in  love's  degree 
Can  best  intone  the  songs  of  love, 
As  blind  men  in  dark  places  move 

More  readily  than  those  who  see. 

They  stumble  not,  nor  do  they  touch 

The  stones  that  bruise  our  laggard  feet; 
But  we  have  known  life's  bitter-sweet 

And  lived  in  love1 s  clear  light  too  much. 


SONNETS 


INTRODUCTION 

T     IKE  as  a  mother  finding  all  forlorn 
•*-"'      Her  truant  children,  bounteously  kind, 
Knowing  their  faults — yet  willing  to  be  blind — 
And  to  what  imperfection  they  were  born, 
Opens  her  arms  to  shelter  them  from  scorn, 
So  these,  the  errant  children  of  my  mind, 
I  gather  tenderly  and  fain  would  bind 
My  life  with  theirs  till  both  shall  be  outworn. 

You,  my  first-born,  along  what  perilous  ways, 
And  far,  you  went  ere  you  came  here  to  rest  ! 
And  there  be  even  those  who  deem  you  dull 
My  Benjamin,  deserving  only  praise; 
And  you,  perhaps  of  all,  I  love  the  best 
Because  no  other  finds  you  beautiful. 


I. 


"1T7ARMED  by  the  soft  Sicilian  skies  that  shine 

Where  the  Madonian  hillsides,  drawing  near, 
Slope  to  the  sea,  or  else  descending  sheer 
By  steep  and  devious  footway  and  incline, 
Fall  to  the  faery  vale  of  Proserpine, 
Faunus,  reclining,  piped  unto  my  ear 
The  reedy  songs  that  serpents  rise  to  hear, 
Half  hid  in  tangled  greenery  and  vine. 

Sudden  a  figure — solemn,  filleted, 
Finger  on  lip  as  if  to  stay  my  breath — 
Parted  the  almond-blossoms  and  there  stood 
Oak-crowned,  outlined  against  the  dusky  wood; 
And  when,  half  welcoming,  some  word  I  said 
The  answer  came,    "  I  am  not  Love,  but  Death." 


II. 


'TT^HE  music  ceased  ;  the  songs  of  life  and  cheer 

•*•        Were  stilled;  the  reed  went  rattling  to  the  ground; 
Beyond  the  fountain,  momently,  the  sound 
Of  fleeing  goat-feet  clattered  loud  and  clear, 
And  I,  with  one  whom  all  these  creatures  fear, 
Alone  remained:   the  very  air  around 
Partook  of  silence;   I,  no  longer  bound 
By  Pan's  enchantment,  saw  the  mien  severe  ; 
Said  to  the  presence,  "  Since  thou  art  not  Love 
Leave  me  in  peace." — "Aye,  to  the  very  end 
Shall  peace  be  thine;  no  more  Love's  torment  now 
Will  trouble  thee,  nor  any  passion  move." 
So  hearing  this,  I  said,  "  Come  nearer,  friend, 
And  let  me  feel  thy  touch  upon  my  brow." 


AT  DAYBREAK 

XT  THEN  the  gray  dawn  was  deepening  into  red, 

Above  the  hills  a  slowly  widening  zone, 
Just  at  the  hour  when  earth  is  most  alone, 
My  lost  love  came  and  stood  beside  my  bed  ; 
Pearl  white  her  pinions,  arching  overhead, 
And  in  her  eyes  such  soft  compassion  shone 
That  all  my  sorrows  lifted  and  were  gone. 

"  I  am  God's  handmaiden  now,"   I  thought  she  said, 

"And  minister  to  them  that  once  I  knew;" 

"  O  why  are  you  so  kind  to  me  ?  "   I  spoke; 

"  Have  you  not  grieved  enough  ?  "   she  made  reply, 

And  then  a  great  peace  filled  me  through  and  through; 

She  leaning  forward,  I,  poor  fool,  awoke 

And  saw  the  red  light  flaming  in  the  sky. 


BEATA  BEATRIX 

T  T  7OULD  it  were  true  that  we  shall  live  again 

To  walk  in  gardens  where  no  grief  may  go, 
And  only  gladness  through  life's  stream  shall  flow, 
After  this  comedy  of  ruth  and  pain; 
My  eyes  look  out,  beyond  the  mist  and  rain, 
To  those  far  fells  whereon  the  gods  bestow 
Such  grace  as  lesser  beings  may  not  know; 
There  would  I  journey  were  it  not  in  vain. 

Ah,  then  what  joy  that  final  cup  to  drink, 
Borne  by  the  angel  that  Rossetti  drew! 
So  might  I  find  thee,  by  some  river's  brink, 
Gathering  those  deathless  flowers  that  never  grew 
In  our  dark  world,  or  anywhere,  I  think, 
Save  in  our  dreams — I  would  that  it  were  true! 


THE  DAYS  THAT  WERE 

E  days  that  were  before  I  saw  thy  face, 
How  distant  and  how  shadowy  they  seem! 
Like  the  bewildered  vision  of  a  dream 
They  came,  they  were,  they  vanished  into  space; 
Yet  now  I  know  that  each  day  had  its  place 
In  Life's  economy,  a  thought  supreme, 
A  lovely  variant  of  a  lovely  theme. 

They  were  not  wasted;  these  I  now  retrace 
Hid  in  the  arras  hanging  in  thy  room; 
Birds,  flowers,  tombs,  Graces,  figures  manifold 
Woven  of  those  departed  days  long  gone; 
And  these  are  radiant  tissues  from  the  loom, 
Fit  for  thy  starry  garments;  this  the  gold 
And  Tyrian  for  thy  feet  to  tread  upon. 


ATLANTIS 


T  T  7HO  has  not  seen  it,  high  in  heaven  set, 

Cutting  the  skies  in  lines  as  clearly  drawn 
As  when,  from  Bordighera's  grove  at  dawn, 
Far  Corsica  is  seen  in  silhouette ! 
Vision  of  purple  cloud  and  parapet ; 
Look  well  upon  it  ere  the  light  be  gone, 
For  there  thy  dearest  hope  is  held  in  pawn  ; 
It  is  the  palace  of  thine  own  regret. 

There  is  the  land  that  lured  thee  to  delight, 
Stretching  away  beyond  those  luminous  spires; 
Enchanted  river,  wood  and  waterfall, 
All  vanishing  upon  the  verge  of  night: 
Behold  the  home  of  all  thy  lost  desires! 
Look  upon  Lethe  flowing  by  the  wall ! 


OBLIVION 


Love  abide,  apportioned  to  our  need, 
And  all  his  bounty  to  our  race  inure, 
Peopled  by  Love  with  all  things  bright  and  pure, 
Could  Love  abide,  then  earth  were  heaven  indeed. 
And  yet,  when  Love's  companion,  Death,  we  heed 
No  more  we  seek  to  know  if  Love  be  sure, 
But,  rather,  ask  could  we  this  world  endure 
With  Love  and  Death  to  be  our  daily  meed  ? 

Alas,  poor  Love!   a  thousand  lowly  mounds 
On  every  hillside  mark  his  sure  decay; 
The  day  declines;   the  air  is  dark  and  chill; 
Through  tower  and  tomb  the  winter  wind  resounds; 
By  household  fires  how  many  hearts  are  gay, 
Unmindful  of  the  slowly  darkening  hill ! 


CAPRICE 


1  /  ASY  it  was  to  love  in  the  old  days, 
-*—•'     When,  for  a  silken  girdle  or  a  glove, 
Men  moved  on  earth  as  constellations  move 
In  the  great  field  of  heaven  before  our  gaze. 
Dauntless  they  rode  along  disputed  ways 
And  couched  at  night,  content  for  very  love, 
On  the  bare  ground  with  the  cold  sky  above  ; 
Careless  were  they  alike  of  blame  or  praise. 

But  now  what  hapless  circumstance  is  mine! 
Frowns  are  my  arrows,  glances  are  my  spears, 
And  I  oppose  them  with  a  shield  of  glass; 
Oppressed  by  fashion  of  these  later  years 
I  see  my  lady  in  her  carriage  pass, 
Further  from  me  than  tented  Palestine. 


THE  DANCING  BEAR 

/CHAINED  in  a  brewer's  vat,  the  wretched  beast 

^"^      Feels  underneath  a  slow  illumined  lire; 

Now  lifts  one  foot  and  then  another  higher, 

His  body  swaying  with  the  flames  increased; 

Enlivens  merrily  a  village  feast 

Where  gaping  rustics  gather  to  admire; 

Until,  with  muttering  and  moaning  dire, 

He  learns,  at  last,  to  dance — that  knew  it  least. 

And,  later,  in  the  pleasant  country  lanes, 
The  music  pulsing  in  the  summer  air, 
The  merry  children  thronging  in  the  place 
Remind  him  of  that  furnace  of  despair; 
So,  to  the  poet,  a  memory  remains, 
As  if  the  tears  were  rolling  down  his  face. 


THE  HEADLESS  STATUE 

TN  some  forgotten  Alp  or  Apennine 

•*•      There  is  a  winding  road — the  only  door 

Into  a  valley,  like  a  level  floor, 

Circled  about  with  cypress  and  with  pine. 

There,  in  a  garden,  at  the  day's  decline, 

I  sat  upon  a  marble  bench  before 

A  headless  statue,  twined  with  hellebore, 

Ancient  as  Bacchus  and  his  wreathed  vine. 

'Tis  Pan,  with  ready  fingers  poised  above, 
Holding  a  flute  where  once  his  lips  had  been, 
But  silent  now,  since  all  his  song  must  die 
With  lack  of  breath  to  utter — Ah,  my  love! 
How  can  I  breathe  the  song  that  is  within  ? 
How  can  I  voice  the  heart's  most  bitter  cry  ? 


LOVE  IS  ONLY  A  MEMORY 

"Perhaps  we  are  led  and  our  loves  are  fated, 

And  our  steps  are  counted  one  by  one  ; 
Perhaps  we  shall  meet  and  our  souls  be  mated, 
After  the  burnt-out  sun." 

Edwin  Markham 

The  Homing  Heart 


LOVE  IS  ONLY  A  MEMORY 


Just  one  picture  hung  in  the  room 
The  saddest  story  that  art  can  tell ;  ' ' 

T.  B.  ALDRICH. 

OO  long,  so  long  ago 

It  was,  they  could  not  know 
In  what  forgotten  clime 
Their  hearts  were  tuned  in  time  ; 
By  what  cerulean  sea 
They  beat  in  harmony, 
The  half,  each  single  soul, 
Of  one  perfected  whole. 

So  far  apart  they  went 
They  could  not  be  content, 
The  while,  from  world  to  world, 
Their  sundered  souls  were  whirled: 
Though  Time,  in  mercy,  cast 
A  veil  upon  the  past, 
Still,  as  the  ages  grew, 
Something  their  spirits  knew  ; 
Something  of  their  old  love 
Shone  on  them  from  above  ; 


They  heard  incessantly 
The  sound  of  that  great  sea  ; 
Their  souls  within  them  burned, 
Nor  knew  for  what  they  yearned. 

Again,  by  some  strange  chance 
Or  sport  of  circumstance, 
Again  upon  this  earth 
Their  spirits  had  their  birth; 
Again  she  came  to  him; 
Just  at  the  outer  rim 
Their  circles  touched — small  blame 
If  both  broke  into  flame ! 

Sinful  it  was  we  know, 
For  rhe  wise  world  said  so; 
And  so  thought  one  who  sent 
Both  to  their  banishment, 
And  bade  the  lovers  hark 
Back  to  the  primal  dark. 

Grim  Florentine,  who  stood 
With  Virgil  in  the  wood 
And  on  Hell's  murky  throat 
Your  fateful  legend  wrote ! 


16 


Who,  peering  through  the  gloom, 
Saw  Farinata's  tomb, 
And  saw,  as  in  a  glass, 
The  murdered  lovers  pass, 
Could  not  your  wit  devise 
Some  greater  sacrifice  ? 

Behold  their  punishment! 
His  eyes  on  her  are  bent, 
His  arms  about  her  thrown, 
She  is  not  there  alone; 
And  he  can  see  and  hear 
All  that  to  him  is  dear  ; 
While  on  them  from  above 
Still  shines  immortal  love. 


THE  DREAM 


THE  DREAM 


T    KNEW  it  was  a  dream — and  yet 

My  feet  upon  that  path  I  set, 
And  followed  on  that  winding  way 
Down  to  the  very  end  of  day. 
Down  through  the  ever  deepening  wood 
I  followed  far  until  I  stood 
Where  no  one  ever  stood  before  ; 
Above  me,  in  the  sycamore, 
The  wood-owl  whimpered  plaintively; 
Dark  water  to  my  foot  was  nigh; 
It  was  the  same,  that  sullen  stream, 
And  yet — I  knew  it  was  a  dream. 

On,  on  into  the  night  I  went 
Until  my  store  of  strength  was  spent; 
And  all  the  bitterness,  the  care, 
The  wretchedness  of  life  was  there; 
No  hope  was  in  me  to  withstand 
The  horror  of  that  lonely  land. 


Sudden,  a  dwelling  to  my  sight 
With  open  door  was  all  alight; 
There  was  a  supper-table  spread, 
The  guests  were  seated — at  the  head 
Were  you  who  are  my  heart's  despair, 
And  by  your  side  an  empty  chair ; 
Your  eyes  embraced  me  at  the  door, 
"Ah  why  did  you  not  come  before?  " 

To  me,  your  smile  was  heaven's  bright  beam, 
And  yet — I  knew  it  was  a  dream. 


INTERLUDE 


TF  words  are  only  empty  sound 

What  profit  lies  in  songs  like  these  ? 
Tet  we  have  seen  the  Pleiades 
In  pools  of  water  on  the  ground  : 

Or,  peering  in  a  little  glass 

No  greater  than  a  handbreadth  wide, 
Beheld  the  lordly  planets  pass 

That  sway  the  seasons  and  the  tide. 

All  that  1  am  or  hope  to  be 
I  strove  in  singing  to  rehearse, 
And  found  it  in  a  single  verse 

That  holds  the  Pagan  world — and  thee. 


TRIOLETS 


IN  DECEMBER 


TT  is  June  when  my  lady  goes  by, 

With  the  sweep  of  her  gown  and  her  grace; 
Though  the  calendar's  there  to  deny, 

It  is  June  when  my  lady  goes  by  ; 
For  the  warmth  of  the  earth  and  the  sky 

With  her  coming  is  full  in  my  face  ; 
It  is  June  when  my  lady  goes  by, 

With  the  sweep  of  her  gown  and  her  grace. 


REGRET 


"1 T7HEN  Doubt  came  in  at  the  door 

Then  Love  flew  out  at  the  grating; 
But  he  turned  for  a  look  once  more 
(When  Doubt  came  in  at  the  door) 
At  the  firelight  on  the  floor 

And  the  warm  little  corner  waiting; 
When  Doubt  came  in  at  the  door 

And  Love  flew  out  at  the  grating. 


A  STRAY  GLANCE 


T  T  was  only  a  look  she  gave 
•*      And  a  strain  of  music  dying 
Like  the  sound  of  an  ebbing  wave; 
It  was  only  a  look  she  gave — 
But  we  carry  such  to  the  grave 

In  pay  for  a  life's  denying; 
It  was  only  a  look  she  gave 

And  a  strain  of  music  dying. 


UNTIL  DEATH  DO  US  PART 


TT  was  hardly  worth  while  to  say  it, 

So  soon  was  the  word  forsworn; 
With  a  priest  and  a  ring  to  stay  it, 
It  was  hardly  worth  while  to  say  it; 
Since  love  and  the  doubt  to  slay  it 

Of  the  same  desire  are  born, 
It  was  hardly  worth  while  to  say  it, 

So  soon  was  the  word  forsworn. 


32 


INTERLUDE 


T  WORSHIP  what  you  might  have  been; 

I  know  it  is  not  what  you  are, 
For  you  were  like  a  falling  star, 
A  moment  glorious — then  unseen. 

All  men  must  lose  what  most  they  prize; 

There  is  no  permanency  here; 

Only  a  memory  and  a  tear 
And  splendor  failing  from  the  skies. 


35 


LYRICS 


SONG 


T     OVE  comes  not  to  thy  call, 
-*— '      And  stays  not  for  thy  word; 
His  vagrant  footsteps  fall 
Unseen,  unheard. 

I  whispered  Love  to  stay 

A  little  while,  a  breath, 
E'en  though  the  lingering  day 

Be  one  with  Death. 


39 


LYRIC 


'T1HY  mouth  is  the  rosebud's  hue; 

•*•        Thy  cheek  is  the  eglantine; 
Thine  eyes  are  the  tender  blue 
Of  the  lotus-flower  divine. 

Bloom  of  the  East  and  West 
God  gave  thee  for  thine  own, 

And  hid,  in  thy  flowery  breast, 
Instead  of  a  heart — a  stone. 


40 


INSUFFICIENCY 


00  many  things  I  longed  to  say 

To  her  who  is  my  heart's  delight, 

1  said  them  over  day  by  day, 

I  held  them  in  my  mind  at  night. 

But,  when  at  last  the  moment  came 

That  I  so  long  had  wished  might  come, 

Before  Love's  burning  altar-flame 

My  tongue  was  mute,  my  lips  were  dumb. 


LOVE  COMES  BUT  ONCE 


and  once  only,  will  you  greet 
The  guest  you  have  so  longed  to  see; 
Mind  that  the  room  be  swept  and  sweet 
With  lavender  and  rosemary. 

Once,  and  once  only,  will  you  hear 

At  break  of  day  that  low,  clear  call; 
Awake!  Awake!  for  Love  is  near, 

He  brings  his  bounty  to  your  wall. 
He  brings  the  dawn,  he  brings  the  dew, 

He  bids  you  open  wide  the  gate; 
Be  it  with  heartsease  or  with  rue 

Say  never  that  Love  came  too  late. 

Once,  and  once  only,  will  you  greet 
The  guest  you  have  so  longed  to  see; 

Mind  that  the  room  be  swept  and  sweet 
With  lavender  and  rosemary. 


DESERET 


T>  EWARE  of  words;  they  are  too  fleet, 

•*-*     Their  subtle  tones  our  lips  evade, 
As  if  a  beggar  in  the  street 
A  viol  of  Amati  played; 

Or,  sounding  some  uncertain  note, 
Experience  with  Expression  strove, 

As  when  a  weakling  to  his  throat 
Had  set  the  hunting-horn  of  Jove. 


43 


SONG 


'""¥"*  HY  voice  is  in  the  whispering  wind, 

Thy  breath  is  in  the  breeze; 
Thy  dwelling-place  I  may  not  find 

Among  the  murmuring  trees; 
On  earth  I  know  not  where  thou  art, 
Save  in  the  longing  of  my  heart. 

And  when  to  heaven  I  lift  my  eyes 

Among  the  stars  above, 
I  cannot  find  thee  in  the  skies, 

Thou  art  not  there,  my  love; 
In  truth  I  know  not  where  thou  art, 
Save  in  the  longing  of  my  heart. 


44 


TWO  SONGS  FOR  MUSIC 

Written  for  E.  E. 


SONG 


OOMETHING  there  was  of  sorrow, 

Something  there  was  of  wrong, 
And  all  was  wrought  in  sadness 

Into  a  little  song. 
Something  there  was  of  longing, 

Something  there  was  of  woe, 
And  all  was  bound  in  melody 

A  hundred  years  ago. 

Something  there  is  of  darkness, 

Veiling  a  deeper  dream 
Of  long- remembered  music 

Heard  in  the  twilight  gleam  : 
I  wonder  who  is  singing, 

And  how  she  came  to  know 
That  someone  was  heart-broken 

A  hundred  years  ago  ? 


46 


II 

SERENADE 


"|^\ARK  lies  your  scented  garden 
^"^      That  blossoms  red  and  white, 
Faint  with  the  breath  of  roses, 
Wet  with  the  dews  of  night. 

No  flower  falls  from  your  window, 
For  me  no  light  will  shine; 
The  gods  of  life's  undoing 
Took  care  of  yours  and  mine. 

And  only  in  your  slumber, 
Where  we  alone  may  meet, 
Across  the  fields  of  Dreamland 
I  come  to  you,  my  Sweet. 


47 


INTERLUDE 


Pay  the  price  for  what  we  gain; 
Nothing  is  given,  all  is  bought, 
And,  at  the  barrier  of  thought, 
Our  gold  is  balanced,  grain  for  grain. 

For,  when  the  nightingale  sings  best 

And  all  the  darkling  hedgerows  hear, 

It  is  a  thorn  against  his  breast 

That  makes  the  tone  so  liquid  clear. 

True  art  is  sorrow  crowned  with  art; 
He  pays  who,  for  a  little  fame, 
Hearing  at  last  the  loud  acclaim, 

Hides  from  the  world  a  broken  heart. 


THE  NIGHT  COMETH 


T  T  THEN  I  shall  be  among  the  wise, 

With  one  thought  folded  in  my  breast, 
A  brother  to  the  Centuries, 
I  shall  not  know  you  when  you  pass, 
Nor  feel  your  footfall  on  the  grass. 

O  tell  me  now,  while  I  may  hear, 

And  heal  my  hurt  and  give  me  rest; 
Speak  to  me  now,  the  dusk  is  near, 
Speak  to  me,  dearest,  ere  the  night 
Shall  blot  you  from  my  mind  and  sight. 


S3 


AD  ASTRA 


QO  bitter  is  the  bread  I  eat, 

^     So  close  my  life  runs  to  the  lees, 

That  I  would  be  a  child,  my  Sweet, 

And  weep  my  heart  out  at  thy  knees. 

Yet  do  I  honor  thee  no  less 

To  be  thy  lover,  though  as  far 

As  Hagar  in  the  wilderness 

And  thou  as  distant  as  a  star. 


54 


IT  IS  QUITE  EASY  TO  BE  WISE 

'T'HE  word  is  passed,  the  seal  is  set, 

•*•    I  must  not  love  you  any  more; 
We  now  have  only  to  forget 

And  all  will  be  as  once  before. 

It  is  quite  easy  to  be  wise 

And  lay  our  memories  to  rest, 

But  who  can  say  they  will  not  rise 
Lake  odors  from  a  sandal  chest 

That  lies  in  some  neglected  room, 
With  brazen  lock  securely  fast, 

All  redolent  with  faint  perfume 

To  make  us  mindful  of  the  past. 


55 


IF  I  CAME  BACK 

TF  I  came  back  at  the  dead  of  night 

And  pillowed  my  head  where  once  it  lay, 

Would  you  welcome  me  with  the  old  delight, 

In  the  same  fond  words  you  were  wont  to  say? 

Or  flee  from  my  arms  in  sheer  affright  ? 

When  the  dying  day  and  the  darkness  blend, 
If  I  came  back  from  my  lowly  bed, 

How  would  our  greeting  begin  or  end  ? 
"Love  me  forever,"  of  old  you  said, 

So  tell  me,  which  would  it  be,  my  friend  ? 


THE  GARDEN 


Y  heart  is  like  a  garden  close, 
With  butterfly  and  floweret  gay, 
Wherein  narcissus  and  the  rose 

And  pansies  vie  in  sweet  array. 

And  there  do  Joy  and  Grief  abide, 
Thy  gardeners;  the  sun  and  rain, 

Joint  almoners  with  wind  and  tide, 

Do  bring  thy  pleasure  and  thy  pain. 

If  I  may  only  look  therein, 

Or  lean  a  moment  on  the  wall, 

I  am  more  blest  than  I  had  been 

With  angels  in  their  heavenly  hall. 


57 


PERVERSITY 

(Dolores  Sings) 

T  T  E  whom  I  love  with  all  my  mind, 
•*•        To  me  is  hardly  more  than  kind, 
Because  his  recreant  soul  is  set 
Upon  a  faithless,  cold  coquette. 

And  she  will  scarcely  look  his  way, 
But  seeks  another  soul  to  sway; 
Yet  is  her  wish  in  vain — this  one, 
Alas!  has  eyes  for  me  alone. 


REJOICE  AND  COMPLAIN  NOT 

X7"OU  love  her  with  your  heart  and  mind; 

•*•      With  others  she  is  frank  and  gay, 
Familiar,  open  as  the  day; 
To  you  alone  she  seems  unkind, 
Reserved  and  distant,   disinclined 
To  smile,  or  even  look  your  way; 
For,  womanlike,  she  long  has  known 
How  close  your  thought  is  to  her  own, 
And,  womanlike,  she  will  not  care 
To  let  her  own  eyes  linger  where 
Your  eyes  like  burning  stars  are  set: 
Fool !  would  you  wish  her  to  forget  ? 


59 


THE  BLIND  VIOLINIST 

T  T  THO  taught  thee  that  mysterious  smile  ? 
Whence  came  that  wondrous  tone  ? 
"I  saw  thee,  dear,  a  little  while 
Ere  yet  the  day  had  flown." 

Some  in  the  sunshine  lose  their  sight, 
And  some  with  tears  and  pain; 

Some  look  their  last  on  all  delight 
And  never  see  again. 


60 


THE  FIRST  KISS 


,  on  this  fallen  clay, 
The  tear  thou  wouldst  not  shed; 
Unto  this  dull  ear  say 

The  word  before  unsaid. 

Leave  to  their  silence  now 

The  lips  thou  wouldst  not  press, 
And  on  this  passive  brow 

Let  fall  thy  first  caress. 


61 


THERE  ARE  NO  FETTERS  FOR  THE  MIND 

'"INHERE  are  no  manacles  to  bind 

•*•       My  thought  of  thee;  no  axe  to  kill; 
No  chains,  no  fetters  for  the  mind, 

And  I  may  worship  where  I  will. 

So,  while  by  day  and  day  apart 

We  drink  of  bitterness  our  fill, 

In  the  rose-chamber  of  my  heart 

I  may  embrace  and  love  thee  still. 


ACROSS  THE  DINNER  TABLE 

'T^HY  face  in  tangled  hair  is  set, 
(So  sits  the  spider  in  his  net.) 

Thine  eyes  invite  the  soul's  desire, 
(So  burns  the  opal's  baleful  fire.) 

Lithe  art  thou  in  thy  silken  sheen 
As  the  green  serpent  in  his  green. 

Not  with  an  appetite  more  nice 
Amina  picked  her  grains  of  rice, 

Ere,  from  her  lips  with  languorous  breath, 
Her  lover  drank  the  dews  of  death. 


IN  AUTUMN 


'  I  *HE  red  sun,  like  a  scimitar, 
Hangs  in  the  darkening  sky; 
And  the  sounds  of  earth  are  hushed  and  far, 
As  they  will  be  when  we  die. 

Wind-swept  the  boundless  plain  below, 

The  bare  boughs  overhead, 
And  the  whirling  leaves  that  come  and  go 

As  they  will  when  we  are  dead. 

I,  sunk  with  unremembered  men, 

You,  in  your  marble  pride, 
What  will  we  be  to  each  other  then — 

Who  have  already  died  ? 


INTERLUDE 


cannot  keep  what  we  have  won; 
Relentless  to  the  end  we  move  ; 
The  noblest  work,  the  purest  love, 
Must  die  with  the  decadent  sun. 

The  radiance  falling  from  afar, 

To  shine  on  worlds  already  dead, 
Is  tinctured  with  the  baleful  red 

That  marks  the  cooling  of  a  star. 


but  a  little  span  ; 
The  worst  will  soon  be  as  the  best  ; 
The  plummet  swings  from  east  to  west, 
All  —  all  must  end  as  it  began. 

So  little  hope,  so  little  trust  ! 

Tet  is  my  flower  of  life  decreed 

To  bloom  for  thee,  in  thought  and  deed, 

Until  we  mingle  with  the  dust. 


67 


PARLOR  AND  GARRET 

"TT7HOEVER  feels  that  he  would  not  like  to 

think  out  to  the  end  every  thought  that 

comes  into  his  mind  should  turn  away  from  art. 

He  who  would  be  an  artist  must  melt 

down  everything." 

—  George  Moore. 


PARLOR  AND  GARRET 

E  Pharisee  is  smug  and  clean, 
He  thinks  the  thoughts  that  others  think 
And  does  the  things  that  others  do; 
His  neighbor's  path  he  follows  through, 
Stops  at  his  neighbor's  well  to  drink; 
All  his  imagining  is  mean, 
No  room  is  in  his  narrow  creed 
For  nature;  he,  with  all  his  kind, 
In  every  parlor  in  the  land, 
Hate  what  they  do  not  understand, 
Unto  the  inner  light  are  blind, 
Are  envious  in  thought  and  deed. 

In  poverty,  unkempt  and  wild, 

Uncomprehended,  slighted,  blamed, 

The  artist  with  his  own  thought  stays 

And  gives  the  world  an  answering  gaze, 

As  innocent  and  unashamed 

In  spirit  as  a  little  child. 

From  his  own  thought  he  cannot  shrink, 

All  things  are  tribute  to  his  art, 

No  fear  is  his,  no  littleness, 

The  truth  he  labors  to  express; 

Fidelity  is  in  his  heart, 

And  faith  is  more  than  meat  and  drink. 


Rather  would  I  be  one  of  these 
To  live  away  from  all  my  kind, 
And  season  with  salt  tears  my  bread, 
Having  no  place  to  lay  my  head, 
Yet  hold  Truth's  image  in  my  mind, 
Than  dwell  among  the  Pharisees. 


"Oh!  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  Him!  " 

—  BOOK  OF  JOB. 


'T^HINE  ear  is  deaf;  no  errant  word, 

In  all  the  ages  that  are  gone, 
Of  all  our  praying  hast  Thou  heard; 
Of  all  our  mournful  cries,  not  one. 

Thy  lips  are  dumb;  no  voice  of  Thine 
The  endless,  envious  years  have  known; 
Unto  our  sight  has  come  no  sign, 
Unto  our  waiting  ears  no  tone. 

Thine  anthem  priest  and  pagan  sing; 
They  gather  round  Thine  altar-flame; 
They  worship,  to  whose  worshiping 
No  benediction  ever  came. 

They  name  with  awe  Thy  dread  abode; 
Thy  dwelling  they  decree  so  far 
That  all  must  perish  by  the  road 
In  Thought  that  leaps  from  star  to  star. 


73 


4NTIPHONE 

They  search  too  far  who  seek  Thee  there, 
When  Thou  art  near  in  flower  and  sheaf; 

Thou  art  the  answer  and  the  prayer, 
Alike  believer  and  belief. 


74 


KING  FOR  A  DAY 


T  T  7HO,  down  this  busy  street 

In  glittering  pomp  and  pride, 
With  tramp  of  horse's  feet 

Comes  in  such  state  to  ride  ? 

One  who,  erewhile  unknown 

On  some  small  errand  bent, 

Along  this  road,  alone, 

Unnoticed  came  and  went. 

But  now  men  stand  apart 

To  give  his  chariot  room; 

The  carter  turns  his  cart, 

The  weaver  quits  his  loom; 

And  children  leave  their  play 
To  see  the  splendor  pass, 

With  plumes  of  black  and  gray 
And  panoply  of  glass. 

So,  lest  our  common  clay 

Lack  all  ennobling, 
Death,  for  a  single  day, 

Makes  every  man  a  king. 


REQUIEM  ^ETERNAM 

T     ET  this  be  graven  on  the  tomb, 
•*— '    That  they  may  learn  who  loved  thee  best, 
"Whoever  to  this  place  may  come, 

Lord,  give  them  an  eternal  rest." 

Let  not  their  naked  souls  be  blown 

By  winds  that  wander  in  the  dark, 

Nor  yet  from  shore  to  shore  unknown 
Be  borne  by  Charon  in  his  bark. 

But  let  the  kindly  earth  enfold 

All  that  was  born  at  Earth's  behest, 

And,  best  of  all  Thy  hand  can  hold, 
Lord,  give  them  an  eternal  rest. 


THE  GATES  OF  SLEEP 


LL  day  those  portals  shine  afar, 

They  glisten  in  the  sun; 
An  angel  sets  the  door  ajar 

When  the  long  day  is  done. 

Silver  and  gray  his  vestments  are, 
And,  with  unerring  hand, 

He  leads  us  where  a  single  star 
Lights  all  the  solemn  land. 

The  dwellers  in  that  star-lit  space 
Are  not  the  friends  we  see, 

But  those  who,  with  averted  face, 
Departed  silently. 

Angel  of  night  lead  on  apace, 
The  doors  of  Sleep  unbar, 

And  guide  me  to  that  trysting-place 
Lit  by  a  single  star. 


77 


LA  JOIE  FAIT  PEUR 


T  fear  no  enemy's  device; 

•*•      No  harm  can  reach  my  soul's  retreat; 

Nor  loneliness,  nor  sacrifice 

Can  turn  my  purpose  to  defeat. 

I  know  that  death  is  but  a  call 

Back  to  the  place  from  whence  we  came; 

There  is  no  future  to  appall, 

No  circle  of  eternal  flame; 

I  fear  not  fate,  for  I  am  made 

Of  sterner  stuff  than  those  who  quail — 

But,  at  the  touch  of  joy  I  bleed, 

With  happiness  I  faint  and  fail, 

When  comfort  comes  I  am  afraid, 

Ah,  then  I  am  a  coward  indeed! 


CARPE  DIEM 


things  I  would  not  know 
The  day  when  I  shall  go 
Unheralded,  alone, 
Into  the  All  Unknown; 

Nor  where,  by  land  or  sea, 
My  level  bed  shall  be; 
Nor  what  my  Love  will  do 
When  I  with  life  am  through. 


79 


WITH  THE  CAMELS 


A  BROAD,  in  the  misty  city, 
The  great  gray  houses  loom; 
Over  the  roofs  of  London 
I  see  them  from  my  room. 

Over  the  roofs  of  London 

I  see  the  fine  rain  fall, 

And  my  eyes  turn  from  the  window 

To  a  picture  on  the  wall. 

My  eyes  turn  from  the  window, 
And  the  sky  is  warm  and  blue 
Clear  to  the  edge  of  the  desert 
Where  the  caravan  came  through. 

Clear  to  the  edge  of  the  desert 
Stretches  the  sunlit  sky, 
Over  the  sands  of  Asia 
As  the  camel  train  goes  by. 


Over  the  sands  of  Asia 
The  wandering  tribesmen  fare, 
Each  on  the  back  of  his  camel, 
Rugged  and  brown  and  bare; 

Each  on  the  back  of  his  camel, 
Muffled  and  gaunt  and  grim, 
They  dream  of  the  palm  tree  growing 
On  the  desert's  utmost  rim; 

They  dream  of  the  palm  tree  growing 
Where  the  waters  leap  and  flow — 
Over  the  roofs  of  London 
The  river  is  dark  and  low; 

Over  the  roofs  of  London 
There  is  only  grime  and  gloom, 
But  we  are  afar  where  the  camels  are, 
The  star-spring  and  the  bloom! 


81 


THREE  SCORE  AND  TEN 


E  ruined  roof  is  prone  to  fall, 
Where  built  the  swallows  long  before: 
The  gate  hangs  rusty  on  the  wall; 

The  path  is  grass-grown  to  the  door. 

Gray  lichens  moulder  in  the  place 

Where  once  the  honeysuckle  grew; 

Gone  is  the  glamour — gone  the  grace; 
The  Old  remains  to  mock  the  New. 

Time  works  his  pleasure,  good  or  ill; 

He  touches  part,  but  not  the  whole; 
Lo,  from  the  crumbling  casement,  still 

Looks  out  the  indomitable  soul! 


COMPENSATION 


'T*O  all  sad  souls  who  walk  with  Truth, 

Knowing  the  world  rewards  not  well 
Artist  or  singer,  age  or  youth, 

A  voice  comes  ringing  like  a  bell. 

Across  the  interminable  years 

It  sounds  from  Weimar's  lonely  towers, 
"Who  never  ate  his  bread  with  tears, 

He  knows  you  not,  ye  heavenly  powers!" 

The  giant  hand  that  writ  the  word 
Long  since  has  fallen  to  decay; 

That  mighty  heart,  with  passion  stirred, 
At  last  "compounded  is  with  clay;" 

But  what  shall  quench  the  voice  that  said, 

"Who  never,  through  the  wakeful  hours 
Of  night,  sat  weeping  on  his  bed, 

He  knows  you  not,  ye  heavenly  powers!" 


WITHIN  THY  BREAST 

TTNWEARIED  through  the  dust  and  din, 
^     And  through  the  day  that  blinds  us  all, 
The  sturdy  laborer  within 

Taps  with  his  hammer  on  the  wall. 

The  night  is  made  for  rest  and  peace, 

The  laborer  should  slumber  long; 

And  will  thy  knocking  never  cease, 

Now  sounding  low,  now  sounding  strong! 

And  must  thou  labor  night  and  day? 

Who  bids  thee  toil  so  late  my  friend? 
' '  My  workshop  is  this  wall  of  clay, 

'Tis  my  own  coffin  I  must  mend." 


BE  YE  THEREFORE  MERCIFUL 

O  rudely  into  being  thrust, 

We  know  not  whence  we  come  nor  why; 
A  little  dew  above  the  dust; 
A  little  fragrance  ere  we  die. 
How  scant  the  blossoms  that  we  cull! 
Even  our  joys   are  pitiful; 
We  dance,  we  sing,  and  over  all 
Projects  the  shadow  of  the  pall. 

In  silk  attire  we  are  at  ease 

Because  some  others  toil  and  sweat; 

We  do  not  sleep  but  one  of  these 

Keeps  watch,  whose  eyes  with  tears  are  wet; 

We  do  not  eat  but  some  brute  life 

Is  bludgeoned  into  endless  night; 

Oh,  is  there  not  enough  of  strife, 

Enough  of  pain,  enough  of  blight  ? 

Or,  is  the  world  no  longer  young 

And  Love  no  better  than  a  name, 

That  one  should  steal  the  serpent's  tongue 

To  blast  another  soul  to  shame  ? 


THREE  CLOWNS    AND  A  NIGHTINGALE 

'  •  ^HREE  clowns,  a  bird  imprisoning, 
•^  Tried,  each  in  turn,  to  make  it  sing. 

The  first,  withholding  drink  and  food, 
Left  it  to  pine  in  solitude. 

The  second  pinched  and  hurt  the  bird; 
But  still  no  note  of  song  was  heard. 

The  third  clown  sat  beneath  a  tree; 
"I'll  bide  my  time,  sweet  bird,"  quoth  he: 

Ere  long  the  night  was  in  the  sky 
And  the  forest  rang  with  melody. 


OCTOBER    DAYS 

rare    October  days!     Ye  leave  your  strange 

Foreshades  of  things  ideal  everywhere: 
Autumnal  glory  crowns  the  mountain  range; 

Autumnal  rapture  floods  the   tranced  air: 
Steeped  in  a  golden  languor  sleeps  the  sky, 

As  sinks  the  drowsy  sun  into  his  rest, 
Where  burning  clouds  in  crimson  masses  lie 

Athwart  the  glowing  portal  of  the  West. 

The  waning  sunshine  softens  over  all; 

Unto  the  music  of  sweet-voiced  rills 
Enchanted  lights  and  shadows  rise  and  fall 

Within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  hills: 
The  hazy  wold  a  magic  vision  seems; 

The  far-off  heights  a  fairy  glamour  take; 
And  distant  headlands,  dim  as  Summer  dreams, 

Immerge  their  purple  shadows  in  the  lake. 

From  the  brown  stubble-fields  on  either  side 

Is  heard  the  mellow  piping  of  the  quail; 
And,  from  an  opal  sky  faint-flushed  and  wide, 

The  Hunter's  moon  looks  down,  serene  and  pale: 
On  steeps  remote  the  parting  sunbeams  rest; 

Illusive  shapes  the  bosky  hollows  fill; 
Then  twilight  shades  the  quiet  glens  invest, 

And  all  is  dim,  and  mystical,  and  still. 


87 


BALLADE 


TN  what  domain  of  earth  or  sky 

Are  you  whom  I  have  found  so  fair  ? 
Whose  perfect  grace  my  lines  imply; 

Whose  loveliness  is  my  despair; 

To  what  dim  court  shall  I  repair, 
With  sonnet,  song  and  roundelay, 

To  charm  your  footstep  to  the  stair  ? 
I  do  not  know — I  cannot  say. 

What  wondrous  lights  and  shadows  lie 

In  Isabella's  auburn  hair! 
(Her  mouth  is  just  a  bit  awry;) 
Clarice  is  blithe  and  debonair, 
(To  hear  her  voice  I  hardly  care;) 
Estella  has  your  eyes  of  gray, 

(How  came  her  nose  so  tipped  in  air  ?) 
I  do  not  know — I  cannot  say. 

Sweet  Alice  renders  sigh  for  sigh, 

Her  smile  is  fitted  to  ensnare; 
She  holds  her  gown  a  trifle  high, 

Her  ankle — well,  that's  her  affair! 

But,  on  a  crowded  thoroughfare 
In  crossing  on  a  windy  day, 

I  fear  there's  nothing  much  to  spare 
I  do  not  know — I  cannot  say. 


Your  colors  in  my  casque  I  wear, 
I  will  adore  you  while  I  may; 

Dear  Goddess,  are  you  anywhere  ? 
I  do  not  know — I  cannot  say. 


89 


PARAPHRASES 


TO  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN 

From  the  French  of  Alfred  De  Musset 

TV  TY  sisters,  in  grace  and  guile, 
•^  One  fatal  gift  you  share; 

To  entrance  Man  with  a  smile 
And  delude  him  to  despair. 

A  laugh  we  can  hardly  hear; 

A  look,  an  unspoken  word, 
When  one  who  loves  you  is  near, 

May  cut  his  heart  like  a  sword. 

He  turns  away  his  head 

And  hides  the  wound  in  his  breast ; 
Yet,  truly,  when  all  is  said, 

I  count  his  part  the  best. 

He  turns  his  face  aside, 

But  his  is  the  nobler  part; 

Better  the  martyr's  pride 

Than  the  headsman's  habile  art! 


93 


LA  VIE 

From  the  French 

T  TOW  vain  the  comedy  of  life! 

•*••*•  A  little  hate,  a  little  strife; 

A  look  uplifted  to  the  sky, 

A  laugh,  a  bow,  and  then — good-by. 

How  brief  the  spell  that  holds  us  here! 

A  little  hope,  a  little  fear; 

A  little  love,  a  little  light, 

A  wish  outworn,  and  then — good-night. 


94 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ROSE  MARY 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ROSE  MARY 

I 

TN  heaven  a  calm,  clear  night  befell, 
•••      A  time  of  stars  on  high, 
And  all  the  prisoners  in  hell, 
Each  from  his  horror  haunted  cell, 
Looked  out  upon  the  sky. 

Then,  chief  among  the  sounds  of  pain 

And  songs  of  sacrifice, 
One  soul  took  up  the  old  refrain, 
"O  send  me  back  to  earth  again," 
Above  all  bitter  cries. 

"When  I  was  wed  with  bell  and  ring 

My  heart  by  man  was  won, 
I  loved  not  God  nor  anything 
But  him  who  was  my  lord  and  king, 
For  this  I  am  undone." 

"Because  I  loved  not  God  alone 

My  soul  is  cast  aside; 
How  could  I  be  in  love  with  one 
Whose  presence  I  had  never  known, 

Or  be  a  spirit  bride  ? ' ' 


97 


"I  loved  the  thing  He  sent  to  prove 

My  faith,  and  set  apart; 
I  held  it  all  the  world  above, 
I  gave  it  all  my  human  love, 

And  hugged  it  to  my  heart." 

"For  this  I  am  in  bitter  woe 

And  live  in  endless  pain; 
Ah,  that  an  angel  would  bestow 
One  gift  of  heaven  and  let  me  go 
Back  to  the  earth  again!" 

"My  body  lies  beneath  a  stone, 

By  death  yet  undefiled; 
The  sorrow  is  not  all  my  own, 
Those  that  I  love  are  left  alone, 

My  husband  and  my  child." 

"A  twelve-month  more  has  passed  away 

With  Winter,  Summer,  Spring, 
Soon  comes  again  the  boreal  day 
And  the  wind  that  smote  me  where  I  lay 
And  left  them  sorrowing." 


98 


"At  morn  he  leaves  his  lonely  bed 

To  labor  with  his  hands; 
The  wind  beats  down  upon  his  head, 
Yet  must  another  mouth  be  fed 

With  harvest  from  the  lands." 

"I  hear  the  farm-latch  click  at  night, 

I  see  the  cattle  come; 
And,  in  the  mellow  evening  light 
The  swallows  circle  in  their  flight 

Round  what  was  once  our  home." 

"He  lifts  the  latch — the  fire  is  dead, 

Upon  the  hearth  no  spark; 
No  flame  to  make  the  rafters  red, 
There  is  no  supper  table  spread, 
And  all  the  house  is  dark." 

"The  rats  run  riot  in  the  gloom, 

They  clatter  in  the  hall; 
His  refuge  is  a  lonely  room 
That  needs  a  basin  and  a  broom, 

And  needs  me  most  of  all." 


99 


"Ah,  once  I  was  his  hands  and  feet, 
His  lamp,  his  light,  his  life! 

His  wine  to  drink,  his  bread  to  eat; 

Behold  him  maimed  and  incomplete, 
A  man  without  a  wife!" 

"The  young,  warm  body  that  I  had 
Lies  stiff  beneath  a  stone; 

My  limbs  in  cerements  now  are  clad; 

Be  merciful  lest  I  go  mad 

And  perish  here  alone." 

High  o'er  the  dreadful  towers  of  hell, 

Only  the  cruel  stars 
Give  ear  unto  the  souls  that  dwell, 
Each  in  his  separate  sunken  cell, 

Pent  in  by  prison  bars. 

For  the  plague  of  hell,  the  bitterness, 
Is  not  of  fire  and  chains; 

The  spirit  knows  its  own  distress, 

Is  eaten  up  with  loneliness, 

And  nothing  more  remains. 


II 


Once  in  a  year,  it  is  decreed, 

An  angel  of  the  Lord 
Comes  down  from  heaven  to  intercede 
And  stand  before  hell's  gate  and  read 

Some  sanctifying  word. 

Then  Satan,  with  high  courtesy 

And  chivalrous  intent, 
Deigns,  with  a  mock  humility, 
A  single  spirit  to  set  free 

From  hell's  environment. 

So  when  the  angel  came  again 

And  stood  with  drooping  wings; 

He  heard  the  piteous  refrain 

And  begged  the  soul's  release  from  pain 
Above  all  other  things. 

Her  body  lay  beneath  a  stone 

By  death  yet  undefiled; 
No  ghastly  change  her  flesh  had  known, 
Her  face  had  even  lovelier  grown 

As  if  she  slept  and  smiled. 


101 


The  name  they  gave  her  at  her  birth 

Was  graven  on  the  stone; 
Ah,  faithless  one,  how  little  worth 
To  love  her  when  she  was  on  earth 
And  not  when  she  was  gone! 

She  did  not  dream — she  could  not  know 

A  thought  so  fugitive, 
For  she  was  one  of  those  who  grow 
To  love  us  when  we  are  laid  low, 

As  well  as  when  we  live. 

The  calm,  the  cruel  stars  looked  out 

On  field  and  farm  and  fold; 
The  pump  was  frozen  at  the  spout, 
The  watch-dog  dragged  his  chain  about 
And  whimpered  with  the  cold. 

Not  with  the  savor  of  decay, 

As  other  forms  have  come, 
But  fresh  as  on  her  wedding  day 
Rose  Mary  came  along  the  way 
To  what  was  once  her  home. 


Her  heart,  ah,  who  can  tell  how  glad, 

How  firm  it  was,  how  brave! 
In  her  own  raiment  she  was  clad, 
The  warm,  sweet  body  that  she  had 
Was  risen  from  the  grave. 

How  grateful  after  long  exile, 

How  glad  we  cannot  know, 
But  round  her  lips  the  spirit  smile 
Caressed  her  mouth  and  eyes,  the  while, 

As  in  the  ground  below. 

There  stood  the  farm  before  her  sight, 

The  roofs  all  round  about; 
The  gates  were  wide,  the  rooms  were  bright, 
The  windows  cast  great  squares  of  light 

Upon  the  road  without. 

Alas,  for  love  and  sacrifice 

In  days  that  went  before ! 
Quick  terror  was  there,  and  surprise, 
But  naught  of  kindness  in  the  eyes 

That  saw  her  at  the  door. 


103 


Ah,  that  another  should  embrace 

The  lips  that  once  were  hers! 
She  saw  the  horror  in  his  face, 
There  was  no  welcome  in  that  place 
For  spirit  trespassers. 

*  *  * 

Far  better  that  the  dead  should  sleep 
Through  everlasting  years; 

They  cannot  rise,  the  grave  is  deep; 

They  do  not  know  the  faith  we  keep 
With  hypocritic  tears. 

When  once  the  funeral  bell  is  tolled 

No  welcome  waits  above; 
If  one  were  risen  from  the  mold 
The  man  would  come  to  claim  his  gold; 
The  wife  to  claim  her  love. 


104 


TO  F.  A.   C. 


T    WOULD  these  little  songs  of  mine 
To  some  neglected  land  might  be 
Borne,  as  upon  an  Indian  sea, 
Not  for  the  world's  behoof,  but  thine. 

Borne  to  a  land  where  we  alone 

Might  dwell  on  some  forgotten  shore, 
And  only  hear  the  ocean's  roar 

And  not  the  critic's  caviling  tone. 

Small  then  my  audience,  but  rare, 

My   frailest  lines  would  bring  delight, 
As  dullard  children,  in  the  night, 

Are  wrapped  with  tenderness  and  care. 


105 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48  (B1039)444 


THE 

SiTY  Oj1  t   ..  PORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


PS 

3505 

C834s 


